I read a very similar story...the difference being in standing on a balcony looking across the city street into another balcony where a man would come out with his glass of wine in the evenings and the woman would try to time it. A nod and a wave happened...and then the man no longer appeared. I think it interesting how we change our habits almost subconciously... I loved the detail here.
It is fascinating, isn’t it—the way one person’s presence can begin to shape the edges of another person’s day without either of them ever quite acknowledging it. And how easily those adjustments remain after the pattern is broken.
A few years ago, as my marriage was coming to a bruising end, I spent six weeks in Havana. I told people it was to learn Spanish and salsa. Six weeks, it turns out, is long enough to form new routines: where you walk, where you buy coffee, the streets your body starts to recognise before your mind does.
There was a woman I crossed paths with most mornings, always within a block or two. We grew used to smiling at each other but never spoke—my reluctance to test my Spanish was stronger than my courage. Still, I remember how my day didn’t quite feel underway until I’d seen her.
I read a very similar story...the difference being in standing on a balcony looking across the city street into another balcony where a man would come out with his glass of wine in the evenings and the woman would try to time it. A nod and a wave happened...and then the man no longer appeared. I think it interesting how we change our habits almost subconciously... I loved the detail here.
Thanks, Colleen.
It is fascinating, isn’t it—the way one person’s presence can begin to shape the edges of another person’s day without either of them ever quite acknowledging it. And how easily those adjustments remain after the pattern is broken.
A few years ago, as my marriage was coming to a bruising end, I spent six weeks in Havana. I told people it was to learn Spanish and salsa. Six weeks, it turns out, is long enough to form new routines: where you walk, where you buy coffee, the streets your body starts to recognise before your mind does.
There was a woman I crossed paths with most mornings, always within a block or two. We grew used to smiling at each other but never spoke—my reluctance to test my Spanish was stronger than my courage. Still, I remember how my day didn’t quite feel underway until I’d seen her.
Thx for sharing your experience. That is exactly it!